


an appearance that promises certainty

by harperuth



Series: the gang deals with mundane human shit [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Background Aubrey Little/Dani, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Panic Attacks, Taxes, Trans Duck Newton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 02:30:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16525598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperuth/pseuds/harperuth
Summary: “What are taxes?” Barclay says, and all Duck can do is stare.“A fucking scam,” Ned says, walking past and sipping a soda.“What the fuck?” Is about as eloquent as Duck is getting for the next hour or so at least.





	an appearance that promises certainty

**Author's Note:**

> hello i'm currently obsessed with the fact that supernatural creatures don't pay taxes. the duck/barclay just HAPPENED i don't even KNOW

Duck is _well_ aware that he has some sort of anxiety. He tries not to examine it too closely but it cops up in some ways. The dope in high school. His preference for walking his section of the Monongahela alone. Stupidly enough, it always crops up in tax season. He supposes he read something about Capone at an impressionable age or something, but he’s always been terrified of the tax evasion he’s never committed.

As such, he’s always been an early filer. Duck is explicitly banned from the meeting with the Monongahela NPS representative who comes and goes over their yearly budget with them, after the last time he attended ended in a near panic attack. Duck’s always been comfortable, but that doesn’t mean that money isn’t a terrifying prospect.

This is his first tax season since he started hunting monsters, he muses, staring at his bedroom ceiling. What’s scarier, tax evasion or an abomination hell bent on his destruction?

‘ _I wonder if Beacon will mercy kill me_ ,’ He thinks, when he realizes that the answer is probably tax evasion.

~

He’s still pondering over his early filing paperwork when Mama summons them all to Amnesty Lodge the next day. He starting to hit the point in the panic spiral where he’s carrying the paperwork with him everywhere compulsively, despite the potential deadname giveaway, and thinking things like _who pays the property taxes on the Lodge? Do they even have a revenue stream considering all these guests are technically refugees? Could they file for charity status? Maybe some kind of co-op housing filing?_

Duck knows he’s shaking a little bit and tries to do the breathing exercises from that video his sister sent him one time. He doesn’t think it’s working by the way Moira is giving him the eye.

“Y’alright there, Duck?” Barclay surprises him and he yelps. Barclay sets the mug he was holding in front of him, “Whoa, sorry there, didn’t mean to uh…seriously Duck you’re looking a little pale?”

“Did you see something in the woods, oh my god, did you find the new monster already? How is it always you, should I be hanging out in the woods more or something?” Aubrey plonks down at the table he’s occupying while Duck tries to breath steadily. In five, hold four, out seven, something something _fuck_. Aubrey barrels over this, “Hey Dani! We should hang out in the woods more!”

“Okay!” Duck hears in the distance. Is it real distance or tunnel distance, he can’t even tell.

“Aubrey, give the boy his space,” Duck hears from real far away before Mama’s face appears in front of him. Okay, guess that solves the tunnel distance mystery, “Hey Duck. Duck. Focus on me buddy alright, now I’m gonna put my hand on your stomach. When I push down, I want you to breathe real deep and push my hand back out, okay?”

Duck latches on as best he can and follows Mama out of the tunnel, groaning once he has his breath back to normal, “I, uh, thanks.”

“That happen often there, Duck?” Mama sounds more wry than anything else, which he appreciates. He peeks up after studying the table pattern for a moment, and it’s just Mama and Barclay sitting with him now. A quick glance around proves that Aubrey has been shooed away, or just found pastures that are less a mess than Duck’s is. He lets out a shaky sigh.

“Mostly, uh, mostly during tax season,” He admits. He’s _aware_ it’s not rational, and he’s just as _aware_ that he doesn’t want to address it thank you very much. Last time he addressed something he ended up in a secret organization that hunts otherworldly monsters, that’s enough opened boxes for one decade.

“What are taxes?” Barclay says, and all Duck can do is stare.

“A fucking scam,” Ned says, walking past and sipping a soda and where in the _fuck_ did he even come from.

“What the _fuck_?” Is about as eloquent as Duck is getting for the next hour or so at least.

~

“I haven’t paid taxes since 1972,” Ned boasts, clearly about to launch into some kind of tale, while Duck tries not to have another panic attack.

“You own a business!” Duck yelps, “ _How can you not pay taxes?_ ”

“Why do you all keep saying this like it means something, what are taxes?” Barclay asks.

“Mama,” Duck beseeches, “Mama I need you to answer this in the affirmative for my sanity. Mama, please. Mama you pay taxes, right?”

“Yes Duck,” She says, sounding far too amused for the goddamn situation, “I pay taxes.”

“Doesn’t everyone pay taxes?” Aubrey injects herself momentarily into the conversation once more, “That’s like the five cents on pop cans right?”

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“ _Aubrey Little have you never filed taxes_ ,” Duck hisses.

“I can tell you with utmost certainty Duck, that I’ve never filed anything in my whole life,” Aubrey sounds completely at peace with this fact. Utterly serene. Duck thinks he’s going to have a stroke.

“Now _that’s_ the spirit Aubrey,” Ned roars, clearly unwilling to be stopped this time, “Why I remember my first time I got paid under the table, I—”

“Hey,” Comes from Duck’s right, quietly enough not to draw Ned’s attention. Duck glances over at Barclay, who still looks frustrated, “You wanna, uh, you wanna head outside?”

“Please dear god yes,” Duck rushes out.

They both inch away from the group, as Ned continues his story and Aubrey hangs on with rapt attention. Mama gives them a nod as they start moving away, and Dani, her hand still clasped in Aubrey’s, mouths something at Barclay that Duck doesn’t catch, then they’re out the door.

Barclay looks a little red as they move out of sight of the Lodge’s multitude of windows. Duck doesn’t question it, just marveling in how mush easier it is to _breathe_ outside. He keeps walking, until they’re amongst the trees, then stops.

“You, uh,” Barclay sounds hesitant, “You can tell me to fuck off, you know, but seriously uh, what the fuck are taxes?”

Duck sighs, and tries not to let his heartbeat get out of control again. Barclay seems to sense his distress somehow. Maybe it’s a Bigfoot thing? A Sylph thing? Just a him thing? Who knows.

“You don’t,” Barclay sounds panicked now too, “You really don’t have to tell me if it freaks you out that bad, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—I was trying to get you away from that—I’m sorry it was a dumb—Mama says sometimes talking about it makes it less scary—you can just—please tell me to stop talking.”

Duck can’t help it. He laughs. A touch hysterically, but he laughs, and he feels better already. He laughs so hard that he has to sit down hard on the forest floor. He feels more than hears Barclay sit down too, and tries to reign in his giggles.

“You know,” Duck says, straining to talk through his laughter, “I was thinking last night. About how we face these stupid out of control things bent on our blood. And how that should be the scariest thing I’ve ever done. Yet, even now, I’m more scared by Ned “Fucking Tax Evasion” Chiccane.”

Duck collapses into giggles again. Barclay just chuckles softly, it’s nice. Soothing. Duck supposes there’s not much in his life that qualifies as soothing now, but Barclay has always managed to emanate an aura of calm. He figures that someone in this madhouse ought to, else they’d all lose it.

Duck let’s all his strings cut, and flops back so he’s staring at the patterns the tree leaves make against the sky, “Taxes is. Taxes is the government taking stock of all the money you’ve made, and all the money they’ve taken from what you’ve made throughout the year. Then they decide if you’ve paid enough or too little or too much and settle up from there.”

“Why…why does someone else take your money?” Barclay sounds confused, and a little obstinate, “It’s your money, you earned it?”

“Well, yeah,” Duck smiles, “But it goes towards important things that you can’t pay for all on your own. Gettin’ the roads paved, and helping people who don’t have the means to earn their own, hell it’s how I get my own paycheck.”

“So,” Barclay says, clearly trying to get on board, “You’re trying to tell me that you pay taxes. To get your paycheck…so you can pay taxes to get your paycheck.”

Duck can’t help but crack up again, “I don’t—I don’t think I’ve ever thought of it that way.”

“Duck,” Barclay sounds exasperated, but he’s off with the giggles again, “No come on, it’s gotta be more than that you were—”

Barclay cuts himself off and Duck tries to curb his laughter. The forest around them is hushed as Duck stops laughing, turning his head to look at Barclay’s back where he sits next to him. He looks. He looks…defeated.

“Hey,” Duck says, trying to be gentle, “Aw hell, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Barclay says quietly, “You were just…you were _really scared_ and that was…that sucked. A lot. Fuck, I’m sorry, don’t listen to me—”

“Yeah,” Duck interrupts, “I’m still really scared if we’re being honest. You ever start thinkin’ about something and then you just…you can’t stop? Even though you know it sucks and it’s not a big deal?”

Barclay snorts, and glances back at Duck, smiling softly now, “Yeah. Yeah, I been known to do that.”

Duck can’t breathe for a second. He forces himself to look back at the leaves. That’s another thing he is _absolutely not examining fuck_. He swallows.

“Well, that’s what happens to me with taxes,” Duck frowns, “I dunno Barclay. The idea of being in trouble for that just freaks me out.”

Barclay says nothing for a moment and Duck drifts, kind of glad he’s said it out loud. The Barclay throws himself back so he’s lying next to Duck on the forest floor, and throws his hands in the air, “What do you _mean_ get in _trouble_ for _taxes_?!”

~

“Have we checked the doors yet?” Duck glances back nervously, they’re locked right? He definitely locked them. He checked. Maybe he can check again?

“Do you want me to melt the lock? Just to be sure?” Aubrey asks, already sounding like she’s made the decision to do just so, but someone at some point taught her she should ask to be polite.

“No!” Barclay lays a hand on her shoulder, “You don’t need to—it’s locked I promise. I checked.”

Duck supposes that’s…that’s alright then. He lets out a breath, “Okay. So. I’m uh—we’re gonna. Taxes. We’re gonna file your taxes today because Jesus Christ y’all I refuse to let this go on any longer.”

“Duck,” Aubrey is actually raising her hand. Duck sighs and points at her, “Is there a reason the door is locked?”

“That reason is Ned, and you know what he did.”

Barclay chuckles and Duck tries his best not to flush. It’s warm in here. It’s fine. They couldn’t open the window for previously mentioned Chiccane fuckery reasons. It’s _fine_.

“Okay!” Aubrey was occasional Duck’s favorite person to talk to, she was probably the most accepting person he’d ever met, “So! _Taxes_. Why are taxes paper and not pop cans?”

“I think soda cans are a deposit, which isn’t taxes?” Barclay looks at Duck for confirmation, and he nods.

“You’re kind of blowing my whole system of natural assumptions out of the water here guys,” Aubrey doesn’t sound pained at all by this. Duck has a brief flash of what life could be like if he just…could move on like a flash fire the way Aubrey did. He might’ve taken Minerva up on her deal when she first arrived. Oh god, that sounds terrible. He’s probably better like this. Probably.

“Taxes,” Duck stresses, “Are on paper because they are like…worksheets. You fill in the pertinent information and turn them back in.”

Aubrey peruses the sheet, appearing to consider this. Duck should’ve known it was too good to be true.

“Do you think Dr. Bonkers counts as a dependent?”

~

“Clearly, I was trying to climb a mountain that was not meant to be known,” Duck opines as he leads the group through the sliding doors, “But this here is surefire. It’s foolproof. These people work actual miracles. They are literal superheroes.”

Duck stops in front of the booths and resists the urge to flourish. He’s not really a flourishing type of man. He’s more of a “force his friends to sit down and do their taxes” man.

“Duck this is a temporary curtained off booth in the front end of a Walmart?” Aubrey sounds hesitant. She clearly doesn’t understand.

“Aubrey,” Duck isn’t sure if he’s looking as crazed as he feels, “This is where peace of mind is given. This is where the kind CPA’s of the world give back the greatest gift they could possibly give.”

Aubrey and Barclay exchange a glance that Duck pretends not to see. He’s fine. He completely fine. He deflates, “They will help you file your taxes.”

Realization dawns. He ushers Aubrey into the only available cubicle, closes the curtain and collapses onto a nearby bench. Barclay shuffles next to him for a moment, then sits next to him. The bench isn’t exactly huge, and Barclay runs a little…well for lack of a better term, big. He’s a long line of heat along Duck’s side that Duck is _very much not thinking about it_.

“You, uh, you alright there Duck?” Barclay fidgets a bit, and Duck is very much not thinking about the way his elbow keeps nudging into his side.

“I think,” Duck says, “That I may have… _may_ have gotten a little too intense about this.”

Barclay snickers, then breaks into all out guffaws. Duck slumps down, running a hand over his face. He is _very carefully_ not thinking about how much bigger Barclay is than him, how slumping like this brings them into even more contact, and he’s definitely not thinking that Barclay has a cute laugh. He’s _not_.

“Duck, I think you…get intense about, well, about weird shit if I’m honest,” Barclay snickers, “But’s it’s kind of endearing.

"It's really not," Duck says, and he knows it's not. He had enough people...not necessarily leave him. It's never anything less than mutual. Kepler's a small town. It's hard to be anything but mutual in anyway he's found. It's not like they're bad people. Hell for the first few years that he tried dating around he kept getting cock-blocked by his own damn sword yelling at him from the closet. It's hard to feel any kind of romance, let alone romance, when you've got a mystical sword in the closet crooning, " _Duck Newton. I know what you're doing out there. You're not doing it very...well. Much like anything else I suppose...Duck Newton have you tried—_ ”

Duck realizes he's been quiet maybe a touch too long after that pronouncement. He can feel the pressure of Barclay's gaze and really this is not the sort of conversation that he wants to have under fluorescent lights in the Walmart one county over from Kepler. He sighs, "No listen, I didn't mean--"

The curtain Aubrey was behind opens with a perfect flourish. Duck can't even tell anymore when she's _magic_ or when she's just plain old magician. Some shit seems like way too much coincidence, but she's always so at ease, so who's he to say.

"I," Aubrey pauses, before holding a pile of papers in front of Duck's nose, "Have filed taxes. Well, I didn't. The very nice Darlene lady did."

"Well alright then Aubrey!" Duck can't help but grin. Okay, maybe he does freak out over stupid shit sometimes, but it's kind of worth it. Barclay nudges Duck's side with his elbow, and grins once he has attention.

"Good job," He says. Duck feels his heartbeat stutter and pickup and Jesus, he really needs Barclay to simultaneously stop looking at him like that and also never stop. He's in so much fucking trouble.

"So," Aubrey says, in that tone of voice that Duck recognizes from her. That's her, _oh is that how it is_ voice and Duck is _in so much fucking trouble Christ_ , "Now what?"

"Hm?" Duck forces himself to look at her, and flushes under her sharp scrutiny. He's so fucked.

"I," Aubrey pauses again, "Have taxes. Now what?"

"Oh," Duck pushes off the bench and rolls his shoulders, "Well, now you put those papers in a safe place and you uh, well, you do it again next year."

"I have to do this again!?" Aubrey yelps, "What the _fuck_ , Duck?"

Barclay starts laughing again and Duck can't help it, he does too. Aubrey glares at them, but Duck can't stop at this point. Barclay hiccups, "Yeah, what the _fuck_ , Duck?"

~

"Aubrey, I'm so _disappointed_ ," Ned actually sounds bereft. Duck squints at him.

"I have taxes!" Aubrey says, "This is a very exciting afternoon for me, I won't let you rain on my parade here Ned. Dani look, I have taxes!"

"Duck," Ned turns to him, beseeching look on his face. Ned doesn't believe this shit for a minute, "Why would you do this to her? She was living on the lam! She had her priorities in order! You didn't need to put her on the map like that!"

"Ned, what the fuck are you talking about," Duck puts up a token protest more than anything else. He kind of finds that he's not as worried about it. It feels nice. He looks ups and catches Barclay's eye through the window into the kitchen, and can't help but grin at him, perhaps a little wildly.

There's a crash from the kitchen and everyone stops to head over to the window, making sure that everything's okay. Barclay is bright red, and doing his best to duck out of sight. Duck can't help but laugh. Barclay pops up long enough to give him the stink eye. Duck just laughs some more.

"Well," Mama opines, behind Duck, "Lord knows that boy wasn't ever gonna win any awards for subtlety. And that was before the second video was let out into the world."

"Uh," Duck can feel the flush crawling up the back of his neck.

"I hope, for his sake, that you get a little bit better at lying Duck," Mama chuckles, then shoulders past him to head into her office.

~

"Okay, so you work at the Lodge," Duck is still very carefully not thinking about things. He's getting well and truly good at not thinking about a lot of things. He's definitely not thinking about how Ned is doing his best to convince Aubrey that taxes are absolutely a once in a lifetime thing, and that Duck was clearly just joking about filing yearly. He's definitely not thinking about how he caught Aubrey and Dani making out in his section of the Monongahela that he walks, apparently in the interest of finding the new monster. Or something.

He's definitely not thinking about how warm Barclay is. He's definitely not thinking about the way that they're sitting much closer than is really necessary, in the name of finally teaching Barclay about taxes. He's _absolutely not thinking_ about how Barclay's arm is settled over his shoulders. Nope. Not thinking about it. He turns and looks at Barclay, who is definitely blushing, and has been for a while now, "Right?"

"Uh," Barclay blushes even more. Duck is not thinking about how cute it is, nope, "Sorry, what?"

"You work at the Lodge," Duck smirks at him.

"Right," Barclay nods, and sprawls a little more, his arm dragging Duck a bit closer, "I work at the Lodge. That's relevant?"

"Yeah, there's paperwork that you fill out when you have a job."

"Oh," Barclay stares over Duck's head, then scrunches his face up, "I don't think I ever filled out any paperwork for that."

Duck laughs. He can't decide if he's completely lost his mind or if he's just reached nirvana. Shit, maybe it's both.

"Okay, let's start easy," Duck peruses the sheet, "You got a full name in there? Do Sylphs have last names?"

Barclay shrugs, "Mama let us choose if we want to. But I never really, okay you can't laugh."

"I make no promises," Duck says, sinking a little bit further into Barclay's side, "But by all means."

Barclay sighs, "Bigfoot, uh, people gave me a lot of names you know. I don't mind that one, I think it's funny, but there's some esoteric shot out there, so I just. Picked one of those."

Duck grins, and poises his pen over the 1040, "Full name there bud."

Barclay throws the hand not attached to the arm currently corralling Duck over his eyes, "Barlcay Skoocooms."

"Barclay," Duck somehow manages to keep a straight face, filling in the form, "That's the stupidest fucking name I've ever heard."

"I was feared once," Barclay sighs, "People everywhere were scared of the terrifying Bigfoot, didn't dare speak his name lest he appeared."

Duck pats the hand resting on his shoulder, "That's nice but they probably didn't dare say your name for fear of being laughed at."

Barclay growls, and Duck suddenly find himself on his back, with the very big and scary Bigfoot looming over him. Duck rolls his eyes.

"I'm not sure I should be taking this from someone who introduces himself with the phrase, 'it's a nickname,'" Barclay rumbles, searching Duck's face like he's worried about saying, doing the wrong thing. Duck grins up at him.

"Don't move, I'm using you as a table now," Duck positions the 1040 against Barclay's chest, then blinks up at him innocently.

Barclay rolls his eyes, but holds his position hovering over Duck. That is _absolutely_ something Duck is _not thinking about_. Maybe later. Alone. He will think about it.

"Okay, another easy one, what's your social security number?"

"What's a social security number?"

**Author's Note:**

> THE CULLENS HAVE BEEN COMMITTING TAX FRAUD FOR YEARS IF NOT DECADES, Y'KNOW!!!
> 
> anyway come yell at me about supernatural tax evasion at floralpunkbarton on tumblr


End file.
